


Rush Over Me

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Get Together, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pining, Steve Angst, Tony Angst, steve is a big dumb dummy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve falls in love, which is a terrible thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a fic of mine from tumblr known as 'pining steve', tweaked slightly

It was nothing like this when he fell for Peggy.

That had been like wading into a clear pool, creeping over him inch by inch and he'd been aware of it happening; he'd welcomed it.

This time around, it's more like being thrown in to the deep end and being dragged under by the current.

One day Tony is just...Tony, and the next Steve is watching a smile crinkle the skin around his eyes, and a winch in his chest winds up.

After that, every little thing Tony does cranks it tighter.

The way his hands move, easy and languid when he's working with the holograms in his workshop, the way his hips cock when he stands still, the meticulous line of his ridiculous goatee—God help him, Steve loves that stupid goatee. It's completely ridiculous and Steve _can't stop staring at it_.

For awhile it's bliss. Steve soaks in every amazing thing Tony does and _is_ and can't believe how lucky he is just to know him.

But the months creep by and all he thinks about is how it would feel to have Tony's mouth against his, what it would be like to thread their fingers together...to feel Tony's hands working the zipper of his slacks.

It's the stupidest things that bring it on, too.

Like Tony standing next to the god-damned fridge at three o'clock in the morning, bare-footed and wearing one of the black tanks that make Steve's mouth go dry, drinking milk straight out of the carton. Something like that shouldn't make Steve's whole chest clench, shouldn't make him _want_ so bad that it hurts. Physically _hurts._

Tony's hair is a greasy mess and there are droplets of milk hanging from the stubble around his mouth, but still Steve wants him so much he can hardly breathe.

Tony catches him looking and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Cap? You okay there?”

Steve makes himself smile even though he feels like crying. How could he be stupid enough to fall in love with _Tony?_ “Yeah,” he says. “I'm fine.”

Tony squints at him, clearly not buying it. “You sure? Is it nightmares? You know we all get them. If you need to talk—”

“No,” Steve says, and pulls his eyes away because it hurts to keep looking at the perfect curve of Tony's lower lip. “It's not nightmares. Really, I'm fine, Tony.”

_It's just that I'm in love with you and you don't feel the same._

Waving a hand to indicate all of Steve, Tony says, “If this is you looking fine, I'm deeply unsettled by the mental picture I'm conjuring of you looking wrecked.”

Steve's throat burns, because _this_ , this is exactly why he's so gone over Tony. He cares so much.

Steve swallows until the tightness in his throat eases and then looks up and meets the warm brown of Tony's eyes, making himself smile. “Honestly, Tony. I'm okay.”

Tony takes another swig out of the carton, eyes on Steve the whole time. “Uh huh,” he says, but he doesn't press and Steve feels even more wretched than he did before.

As he leaves, Tony reaches out and flicks his bicep, hard enough to sting. “You decide you wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

After that, all the bliss is gone. Steve still can't help how the sweep of Tony's eyelashes, or the crookedness of his surprised smiles affect him, but instead of buoying him the way they used to, the little things he loves sour inside him, leaving a yawning chasm in his gut. Every good thing Tony does feels like salt in the wound. He can't stand it, but he can't stand the idea of staying away from Tony either. It's the worst kind of catch-22.

The others have started to notice and express their concern—Natasha in particular keeps yelling at him, demanding to know whose ass she has to kick, and Sam keeps watching him with sad, worried eyes. But it's Tony—of course it is—who proves to be the breaking point.

Steve should be the first to show up for the briefing, he usually is, but today when he goes inside, Tony is already there, leaning on the table with one hand while he flicks through images on its surface.

The winch in Steve's chest constricts and he stops, the ache coming over him in a wave as he catches a glimpse down the neck of Tony's shirt, the loose end of his tie tucked into his belt to keep it off the table.

Tony looks up and all at once his expression grows tired. He straightens, like it costs him to do so, and crosses his arms, shoulders hunching inward slightly. “All right, out with it. What did I do?”

Steve blinks at him and frowns. “I don't—what do you mean?”

Tony glares at him, sullen. “I can _see_ it, you know,” he says, mouth a sharp slash across his face. His eyes gleam, overbright. “The way your fucking face just—falls every goddamn time you see me. I'm not great at relationships, but I can see that much, all right, so what is it? What did I do that you can't even stand to _look_ at me?”

The bottom drops out of Steve's stomach. “That's not— Tony, _no_.”

“ _Bullshit!_ ” Tony snarls, slamming his palms down on the table. To Steve's horror, Tony's chin starts to tremble. “I thought I was doing okay!” he goes on, voice rising to a pleading note. “I made you laugh, didn't I? And listened, I tried to understand what it was like for you, to—to give you space or whatever, but then you just started looking fucking _miserable_ anytime you got near me and _goddammit, what did I do?_ ”

“ _Tony,”_ Steve says fervently, “you didn't _do_ anything.” His heart is in his throat, throbbing, and it feels like he's going to choke on it.

Tony growls in frustration, and turns away, scrubbing at his face. “Fine. Don't tell me. Whatever. I just—whatever.”

He looks defeated, and Steve can't let that stand.

He closes his eyes. Whispers, “Tony, I'm in love with you.”

He wants to curl up in shame, but he makes himself stand his ground and wait for whatever Tony's reply is. He'd kept his feelings to himself to protect what they had and had wound up destroying it anyhow. He deserves this.

The silence stretches on. Finally, in a small voice, Tony says, “You—what?”

Steve swallows, but it's almost a relief to say it again, to have it out there finally. “I'm in love with you.”

When Tony turns around, he does it slowly, warily, like he's expecting Steve to lash out at him. His dark eyes are huge and disbelieving.

“I have been for months,” Steve admits. “I'm trying, I swear I am, Tony. But trying to stop wanting you is like trying to stop breathing.”

The expression on Tony's face is morphing into something else, something wondering. “You—you mean that, don't you?”

Steve laughs, a little raw. “Do I.”

Tony comes around the table, runs into one of the chairs doing it, and Steve feels the muscles in his legs twitch with the urge to get away. “Fuck,” Tony says, “all this time—” Then his hands are taking hold of Steve's shirt, fisting around the fabric and dragging him down and Steve's mouth opens on a gasp as Tony kisses him.

Steve whimpers, hands curling so lightly around Tony's arm, around his waist.

Then Tony pulls back and Steve chases his mouth helplessly, so when Tony breathes, “Me too, god, me too, Steve. I thought—” it's into Steve's mouth.

Steve cuts him off with more kissing and it's better than he imagined, so much better; Tony's mouth is hot and wet and the hairs of his goatee scrape Steve's cheek and it feels _so good_ to finally touch, to run his hands down the line of Tony's back, which he's followed a million times with his eyes.

They're practically laying on the table, still pressed together from knee to lip, when Natasha comes in and says, “Oh, you _idiot_.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ishipallthings asked me for a sequel companion to steve pining

 

When he starts having warm fuzzy feelings for Steve, Tony knows right away what it is—the way he hadn’t for _years_ of being head over heels for Pepper.

It helps that he’s sober and can’t mistake the damn butterflies for nausea.

With Steve, he knows why his face gets hot, he knows what the floaty feeling in his chest means.

Being aware how gaga he’s gone over Steve is bizarre. Steve makes droll jokes about patriotism and being old as dirt and Tony laughs too long and too loud, but he can’t make it _stop._

What’s really embarrassing is when he catches himself saying to Rhodey, “Well, Steve says…” every ten minutes.

Rhodey razzes him relentlessly about it.

And Tony knows he stares, but who can blame him. Steve is literally physical perfection. Though to be fair, Tony thought the same thing about Pepper.

Point is, it’s kind of a novel experience for Tony, being aware he’s falling in love.

For awhile it’s nice. It’s reassuring to know he didn’t blow his only shot. He’s still getting over the end of the thing with Pepper and he’s too raw to think about trying again just yet, but it feels good to be around someone who lifts his mood just by being around.

Like Steve standing in the workshop at…well, it’s probably afternoon, because Steve’s got blue and green chalk smudged across his jaw and on the white t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s holding a greasy brown paper bag and smiling crookedly at Tony. Tony’s heart flips in his chest, a smile making it’s way across his face in an instant.

“Hey. Got time for a bite?”

“You gonna stay and eat with me?”

Steve puts one hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Do you really think I’d make my best guy eat alone?”

Tony’s stomach surges the way it does during a barrel roll in the suit. He wants so bad for Steve to mean that and lately he’s starting to feel a pang whenever he acknowledges that his interest is never going to amount to anything.

_God,_ he’s got a masochistic streak a mile wide.

Tony clears off a portion of the bench and then does his best not to react when Steve drags a stool over to sit next to him, close enough their knees are pressed against each other under the table.

As he takes the food out of the bag—burgers, god, Tony’s stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead—Steve says, “So you’ve been working pretty hard lately.” He leisurely unwraps his burger and takes a bite before looking up at Tony with those insane blue eyes.

This is the closest Steve ever gets to giving Tony shit about the ludicrous amount of time he spends in the workshop.

“There’s a lot to get done,” Tony says defensively.

“I know it,” Steve replies, calm and conciliatory. “I just miss spending time with my friend, is all.”

“Wow, okay. Wow, so Pepper did _not_ know all the tricks there are. All right. I’ll get out of the shop more.”

Steve grins, obviously pleased with himself. Tony groans when he says, “I’ll get tickets for the next Yankees game.”

After that, things change. Tony can’t figure out what happens or what causes the change, but Steve stops looking happy to see him. He smiles, but there’s something weird in it that Tony can’t identify. It’s not unlike the way Pepper started looking at him not long before they called it quits and that scares the daylights out of him. More than ever, Tony wants Steve to be happy and he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to fix things.

He tries anything and everything he can think of—he spends less time in the workshop, he doesn’t argue when Steve gives orders, he drinks less, sleeps more, eats better. Even the rest of the team has noticed the change in Steve and that makes Tony feel cold inside. He can’t let whatever he’s done tear the team apart, but everything he tries only seems to make things worse.

Doesn’t stop him from trying though. He shows up to their next briefing early out of sheer desperation. Steve had liked him well enough before, but maybe—

The sound of the door opening gets his attention and he looks up to see Steve, who—who’s standing there looking at Tony like he tossed Steve’s sketchbooks into the river.

It hurts, a sharp stab of pain right through the heart. God, he’s so tired of this. “All right, out with it. What did I do?”

Steve blinks and him and frowns. “I don't—what do you mean?”

“I can _see_ it, you know,” Tony says, feeling himself shaking. “The way your fucking face just—falls every goddamn time you see me. I’m not great at relationships, but I can see that much, all right, so what is it? What did I do that you can’t even stand to _look_ at me?”

Tony feels sick to his stomach. Steve stutters out, “That’s not— Tony, _no_ ,” and it’s the last straw, the last fucking lie he can stand.

“ _Bullshit!_ ” he snarls, hands slamming down on the table. Steve jumps and that’s a whole new level of awful. Tony hates that he’s driven Steve off and now he’s scaring him and— “I thought I was doing okay!” he says and, god, he really thought he had. “I made you laugh, didn’t I?” he tries, pleading even though it makes him feel slick with shame. “I listened, I tried to understand what it was like for you, to—to give you space or whatever, but then you just started looking fucking _miserable_ anytime you got near me and _goddammit, what did I do?”_

Steve looks…shocked maybe, his brow furrowed. “ _Tony_ , you didn’t _do_ anything.”

Tony’s heart drops. Steve’s not going to tell him. Frustrated, he turns away, scrubbing at his face. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Whatever. I just—whatever.”

He ruined the best thing that ever happened to him and he’s never going to know why. He should have known better anyway. Everything he touches turns to poison eventually.

Then Steve whispers, “Tony, I’m in love with you.”

Tony’s thoughts screech to a halt. His heart starts banging against the arc reactor so hard it hurts and he can’t quite seem to get air in his lungs. “You—what?”

This time when Steve says it, his voice is calmer, closer to Captain America than Steve Rogers. “I’m in love with you.”

Tony’s heart does a somersault in his throat. He’s still awake right? He didn’t mishear—Steve actually said— He has to see Steve’s face.

He doesn’t want to, but Tony makes himself turn. Steve is frozen just inside the doorway, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face is pale. He looks…he looks like he’s just told Tony his deepest, darkest secret and he’s waiting for retribution. Tony doesn’t really think he would, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to yank Tony’s chain.

Steve swallows, eyes searching Tony’s face. “I have been for months,” he admits. “I’m trying, I swear I am, Tony. But trying to stop wanting you is like trying to stop breathing.”

He’s telling the truth, Tony can see it in his face. Steve has a shit poker face and if he were lying, it’d be written all over his face, but he _isn't—_

“You—you mean that, don’t you?”

Steve laughs, shoulders shrugging helplessly. “Do I.”

Tony swallows down the fluttering lump of his heart, his nerves all singing with elation and terror. He skirts around the table, bumping into one of the chairs in his haste.

Steve wasn’t making that face because he was mad at Tony, he was making that face because—because he was in love with Tony this _whole time_ and he thought Tony wasn’t interested. “Fuck,” Tony blurts, “all this time—”

In range, he grabs hold of Steve’s shirt and drags him down because hell if he’s going to waste another second on miscommunications.

Steve gasps into his mouth, makes the softest, sweetest sound Tony’s ever heard. He barely touches Tony’s arm, and the idea that he’s as terrified as Tony is cements everything.

Tony pulls back and Steve chases his mouth, long eyelashes fluttering, and it’s a heady feeling. “Me too,” he breathes into Steve’s mouth, feeling his warm breath across his lips, “god, me too, Steve. I thought—”

_I thought you hated me, I thought I ruined everything—_ it’s all smothered into silence under the sensation of Steve’s plush lips, the soft skin of his jaw. For once, Tony did something really, _really_ right and he’s being allowed to have this. He deepens the kiss, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make the most of this.

They’re practically laying on the table, Steve’s body blanketed over his, when the door opens and Natasha says, “Oh, you _idiot.”_

Tony grins against Steve’s lips.


End file.
